


Chromatic

by until_the_earth_is_free



Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-26
Updated: 2014-12-26
Packaged: 2018-03-03 14:18:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2853881
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/until_the_earth_is_free/pseuds/until_the_earth_is_free
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amy Dyer's perspective.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chromatic

**Author's Note:**

> This is a secret santa gift for the lovely [kierenwalzer](kierenwalzer.tumblr.com) . Merry Christmas!! I hope you enjoy it.

 

 

 

 

The world is a colourful place. It is the birthplace of sunsets and fairgrounds and lipstick and paintings by Van Gogh and it is gorgeous. There is a richness behind each colour where the light is absorbed and an enthusiasm when the light bounces back. Well, she's not entirely sure how the physics behind the whole thing works. But, surely, not even the big serious stony scientists in their big serious stony labs can explain what makes the colours feel so alive.

Amy Dyer stares at her grey reflection in her bathroom mirror.

The world is a colourful place if only you know where to look.

\----

Simon is staring out the train window again. She watches his gaze as it passes apathetically over fields and houses, expression never changing from a flat passivity. It upsets her somewhat when her friend becomes distant and she racks her brain for a conversation topic to try to spark some second life in him.

"I think you'll like Roarton," she says. "It's very different from the city. A bit quiet. A bit grassy. Lots of handsome fellows."

He humours her a tired smile.

"And the houses are really kind of quaint. Rustic, even. With yellow bricks and little gardens out front. It's a real poet's den."

"Have you got a lot of friends in Roarton?" Simon asks, his voice low from having not spoken for a while.

"My BDFF lives there!"

"Your what?"

"Best Dead Friend Forever. His name's Kieren. Sweet kid."

"What's he like?" Simon asks, leaning back in his seat and shutting his eyes. They both know he's not asking because he's interested but so that Amy could keep talking and let her bright emphatic voice fill the train compartment like light.

"He's a real artsy type," she says. "He's always drawing or painting or something. I think he got offered a place at an arts college before he, you know, died. He listens to some pretty moany music and he's gorgeous. But don't get jealous though! We're just friends."

"Best friends," Simon clarifies, his eyes still shut.

"Best dead friends forever. Yes. But my no-longer-beating heart belongs to you and only you, My-mon."

"Glad to hear it."

There's a beat of silence.

"Shall I wake you up when we get there, then?" she asks quietly.

"Yeah, thanks," Simon replies with a grateful smile.

They both sit in companionable silence as the countryside whirs past the window in a watercolour blur of green and blue and brown.

\----

Kieren isn't home when Amy rings the Walkers' doorbell, so she waits patiently in their living room, while Jem glares at her and the parents attempt at conversation.

"So, Amy," Kieren's mum starts. "How are your friends settling in?"

"Oh, they're fine. Absolutely loving it here. We're having a rave."

"A rave?" Steve inquires.

"Why yes. The party scene in the city is nothing compared to here!"

Both Mr and Mrs Walker nod and smile, unsure of whether she is being sarcastic or not, as is often the case with their son's zealous friend.

"Kieren!" Sue exclaims the moment she hears the front door open. "Your friend is here!"

"Hi, Amy," Kieren calls from the entranceway, kicking off his boots with great skill. "Do you want to come upstairs?"

"I would be honoured," she replies, as Jem rolls her eyes. "Always a pleasure to speak with you, Mr and Mrs Walker."

"Likewise," Steve says, trying to be as sincere as possible.

"It's a bit of a mess," Kieren apologises, as he opens his bedroom door, kicks aside a few dirty socks that have made their way to the floor and gestures to the random coloured pencils scattered on the bed and desk.

"That's alright! It's all part of being an artist, isn't it?"

"Sure. It's totally not just part of being a teenager."

Amy laughs, and thumps herself down on his pillow, causing some of the bed pencils to clink together like glasses of champagne. She spreads out her skirt so it becomes a semi-circle of pink florals on her friend's white sheets.

"So, what was it you wanted to talk about?" Kieren asks, sitting on the other pillow and stretching his legs out parallel to hers.

"Nothing much. Just the existence and purpose of everyone and everything, why are we here, where are we going, is there a higher power. You know. The typical."

"Or maybe we could just talk about... I dunno... anything else?"

"Fine then, Kieren Walker! Let's do it your way, then."

\----

She toddles down the stairs, one hand on the banister, one hand holding up her petticoats in a stately manner. Philip ought to have arrived by now but she does not recall hearing the doorbell ring. Glancing through the glass on the side of her front door, however, she can see an anxious Philip rocking on his heels on her front step. How long has he been waiting there? With a fond smile, she opens the door.

"Good morning, gorgeous!"

"Hi, Amy," Philip replies. "Are you ready?"

"Just let me get my coat on," she says, removing a bottle-green redingote coat from its hook on the wall.

"Do you-" Philip hesitates. "I mean, I thought you didn't feel cold."

"Yeah," Amy says, buttoning up and wrapping a long red scarf around her neck several times. "But have you noticed how nice this coat is?"

"Fair enough," he says with a shy laugh.

"Shall we go, then?"

"Sure."

Amy can sense that he's fretting about whether to offer his arm to her like a gentleman so she makes the decision for him and takes his hand in hers like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"I thought we'd might have a sort of picnic," Philip explains, as he leads the way to a little clearing on the outskirts of the forest and lays out the charcoal tartan blanket on the grass. "The sky is a little gloomy though, sorry."

Amy looks up at the dusty clouds diluting the sunlight.

"Perfect picnic weather," she announces, just as a drop of rain hits her squarely in the eye.

"Oh, God," Philip exclaims, wrinkling the blanket in his haste to lean over and see if she is hurt.

"Just a spot of rain," she says airily, waving her hands dismissively. "Don't fuss."

It continues to sprinkle rain as they talk, cross-legged on the ground like children. Their conversation is constant and easy: nervously rambling on one end and fearlessly verbose on the other. However, after a few minutes, Amy notices water starting to pool in small creases in the blanket. Philip is shivering gently.

"Are you cold?" she asks, concerned.

"Just a bit," he replies, his voice rattling with the effort not to chatter his teeth.

"Come on, then," she says, decisively standing up. "Let's get you some hot chocolate, eh?"

Shirley Wilson is drying plates when Amy waltzes into the kitchen, Philip in hand. She perks up when she notices the pair and smiles when she notices Amy clutching her son's hand.

"Sorry to bother you," Amy says. "But I don't suppose you have any hot chocolate powder stuff?"

\----

Amy stares at her reflection with an odd sort of incredulity and delicately picks an eyelash from her dull, grey cheek.

Something has changed.

She smiles and blows a kiss to the mirror, before flouncing out of the bathroom in a whirl of petticoats, lace and colour.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> ((This is my very first In The Flesh fanwork so any comments/kudos/advice would be greatly appreciated!!!))
> 
> [transrenwalker.tumblr.com](http://www.transrenwalker.tumblr.com)


End file.
